for the day.
‘It was rumoured that the Emperor himself may be attending today,’ Gaius said as they took their seats. ‘Which is very rare, as Tiberius hates appearing in public and doesn’t take any interest in racing. Perhaps he just wants to remind the public what he looks like.’
‘Where will he sit?’ Vespasian enquired.
‘Why, there, in the imperial box,’ his uncle replied, pointing to a richly decorated enclosure in line with the turning post at the wide end of the track, twenty paces to their right and slightly below them. A marble roof, supported by painted pillars, jutted out from the main body of the stadium, shading an area furnished with chairs, couches and soft rugs. ‘We shall have an excellent view of him, but more to the point he will be able to see us, if he so wishes.
‘Now, down to the business of placing our bets on the first race.’ Gaius paused and adjusted his cushion so that it supported the entirety of his ample behind; once satisfied he continued: ‘You will notice that there are lots of slaves with leather bags tied around their waists going around the crowd; they’re the runners for the bookmakers stationed around the track above and below us.
‘Before each race the teams are announced and paraded once around the track so the crowd can inspect them. Each of the four Colours usually enters three teams in a race, so you have no more than twelve to choose from. Now, you can bet on anything you like, the winner, first and second, on someone not finishing or even all three teams of one Colour not finishing – whatever you want. Once you’ve decided on your bet you attract the attention of some of these slaves and they will tell you the odds that their masters are offering; you choose the best and give him your money and in return he will give you a receipt pre-signed by his master. If you win the slave will return and give you your winnings once you’ve produced the receipt.’
There was a stirring in the crowd and a group of twenty men, half carrying large horns that curled around their bodies, the others long straight trumpets, marched on to the roof of the imperial box. On a signal from their leader they raised their instruments to their lips and sounded a deep sonorous fanfare that seemed to go on for an age. The crowd hushed and a man in shining military uniform came to the front of the imperial box.
‘That’s Sejanus, prefect of the Praetorians,’ Gaius whispered, ‘an adder in the long grass if ever there was one.’
Sejanus raised his arms. ‘People of Rome,’ he shouted. His voice was strong and carried all the way around the enormous structure. ‘We are blessed today with the presence of our glorious Emperor, here to support the Consul, Marcus Asinius Agrippa, by whose generosity these games are being held. Hail Tiberius Caesar Augustus.’
A tall, broad-shouldered man with thinning grey hair, which he wore short at the front and longer at the back so it covered the nape of his neck, strode out to the front of the imperial box with the confidence of a man used to supreme power. The crowd stood as one and bellowed a series of mighty shouts of ‘Hail, Tiberius’. Vespasian wholeheartedly joined in the chorus as he got his first view of the most powerful man in the world. Dressed in purple tunic and toga, Tiberius held out his hands in acknowledgement of the ovation and then gestured to a man behind him to step forward.
‘That’s Asinius Agrippa,’ Gaius shouted above the din, ‘one of the richest men in Rome. He’s sponsoring these games to ingratiate himself with the Emperor. Rumour has it that he’s after the governorship of Syria when his term of office as consul finishes at the end of the year. The money he has spent on these games will seem like small change compared to what he’ll cream off there, should Tiberius grant it.’
Asinius raised his arms and the large gates at each end of the arena opened. Out marched about a hundred slaves carrying buckets filled with coins of all denominations, which they hurled to all corners of the delirious crowd.
‘I see what you mean, Uncle,’ Vespasian shouted, catching a sestertius out of the metal rain, ‘but surely this is excessive.’
‘Of course it is, but it keeps the people happy and perhaps Tiberius will remember it when he comes to appointing the new governors.’
Around him Vespasian noticed that more than a few of the senators were making no attempt to pick up any of the coins that fell amongst them and had sat down with seriously disgruntled expressions on their faces. With such a lavish display of largesse Asinius had evidently managed to offend many of his peers. Asinius himself seemed oblivious of this and, basking in the reflected glory of his Emperor and the adulation of the crowd, gave another signal. The horns and trumpets rang out again and the crowd quietened and sat back down. The gates, to Vespasian’s right, opened revealing the twelve four-horse chariots that would contest the first race.
The three chariots of the Red team entered first. All the horses had dyed red plumes of feathers on their heads and their tails were tied up with red ribbons. The small, light chariots, made of strong red fabric stretched over a wooden frame, had long, slightly upwardly curving poles ending in a carved ram’s head. Although harnessed four abreast only the two inner horses were yoked to the pole at their withers, the outer two being attached to the chariot by traces. Two small eight-spoked wheels with iron tyres gave the vehicles a low centre of gravity making them easier to control. The charioteers all sported bright red sleeveless tunics and had a lacing of leather straps around their torsos to protect their ribs in a crash. To prevent them being dragged to their deaths they wore in their straps a curved dagger that they would use, should they fall off, to cut the reins that were wrapped around their waists. Leather wrappings around their legs, a hardened leather helmet and long four-lash whips completed their uniform.
Heralds around the stadium, struggling to make themselves heard, called out the names of the drivers and horses of each of the three teams. They were greeted with cheers from the Red factions in the crowd and hisses from the rest. Next in came the Blues.
‘Driving the first Blue chariot,’ the heralds bellowed, ‘is Euprepes, son of Telesphoros. It is pulled by Argutus on the outside, Diresor and Dignus in the middle and Linon on the inside.’
The Blues in the crowd cheered their approval.
Gaius leaned over to Titus. ‘That’s the team I fancy to win; Euprepes has won over seven hundred races, two hundred of them at least for the Blues, and three times with this team of Iberian stallions already this year; and Linon is the steadiest of inside horses on the turns.’
‘In that case I shall take your advice, my friend, and have ten denarii on the Blue first team,’ Titus replied, signalling to a couple of passing bookmakers’ slaves.
‘Father, that is a lot of money to throw away on a bet,’ Vespasian said, frowning. Innately careful with money, he found it hard to enter into the spirit of the day.
‘Don’t be so parsimonious, little brother,’ Sabinus scoffed as the heralds started to announce the White teams. ‘We’re here to gamble, not save. I’ll have ten denarii on the Blue first team too.’
‘Dear gods,’ Gaius said, looking worried, ‘it had better win or I shall be in big trouble. That’s the last tip I’ll give today, my nerves won’t stand it.’
Vespasia gave a half-smile. ‘I should hope so, Gaius, I’m not sure that I approve of all this gambling.’ Then, turning to the bookmakers’ slaves, she asked, ‘What are the odds for the White third team?’
‘My master will give you twelve to one on Gentius, or five for a White to win,’ replied the first.
‘Mine is offering fifteen, or six for a White win,’ said the second.
‘In which case I’ll have two denarii at fifteen to one on Gentius.’
‘Mother!’ Vespasian exclaimed, outraged.
‘Oh, don’t be such a prude, it’s only a bit of fun,’ she said, handing over the two coins and receiving a receipt in exchange. ‘Perhaps you should try placing a bet, you might find that you enjoy the race more with money resting on it.’
‘I don’t need to bet on a race to enjoy it,’ Vespasian replied huffily.
Titus, Sabinus and Gaius managed to get three to one on Euprepes off the first bookmaker’s slave, which Gaius reckoned to be reasonable odds for the favourite.
The heralds had just finished announcing the Green teams when there was a stirring in the imperial box. Tiberius got to his feet and greeted with apparent affection a tall elegant woman draped in a black palla that covered her hair and fell down in folds to below her knees. Under this could be seen a deep red stola that reached her ankles; she looked every inch a respectable and powerful Roman matron of the old school.
‘That’s Antonia,’ Gaius said quite excitedly, ‘Tiberius’ sister-in-law. Tiberius made her eldest son, Germanicus, his heir as part of the deal that he struck with Augustus when he was adopted by him. Germanicus,
